Stella thought about that. She had nothing to compare. She had only the shape Sam had left in other people. Anna’s too-carefully-no-comment. Tyler’s eyes going somewhere else. Margo’s occasional sentence that landed in a different language than the rest of her speech. Meg’s wide-eyed uncertainty. Stella had never met Sam.
“She was fun,” Stella said. “Everyone says she was without saying she was.”
“She was,” Bea said. “I remember that part.”
“And she’s an artist. Just like you.”
“Yes. And she’s not going to be what you’re expecting.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody ever is.”
Bea leaned her head against the back of the couch and closed her eyes. Stella pulled her feet up into the chair and tucked her chin on her knees. They stayed like that for a while—not talking, not needing to. They’d gotten good at that.
“She’s going to be so excited to meet you,” Stella said.
Bea opened her eyes. “Why?”
“Because you’re her granddaughter and you’re going all the way out there just to see her.”
“You’re going too.”
Stella pulled at a thread on her jeans. “Yeah, but that’s different.”
“How is that different?”
“She knows you exist, for one.”
Bea reached across and squeezed Stella’s ankle, which was the closest part of Stella she could reach from the couch.
“She’s going to like you,” Bea said.
“Everybody likes me. I’m delightful.”
“You’re something.”
Bea left at five with the leftover ginger kombucha and the calculus book she still hadn’t opened. Tyler came in from the garage with grease on one wrist and the smell of toast already starting because he’d put bread in the toaster before washing his hands.
“Good homework session?” he asked.
“The best.”
“How’s the calculus?”
Stella leaned against the kitchen doorway. “Calculus is a human construct.”
“I’ll tell your teacher.”
“Please don’t.”
He ran his wrist under the faucet and dried it on the dish towel. “So what’d you actually do?”
“Talked.”
“About?”
“Bea decided about Sedona. She asked me to go too.”
